


Flightless Bird, Caffeinated Mouth

by RainingStars



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Also of course Marco listens to Snoop Dogg because why not, Connie and Sasha saw this coming from a mile away, Happy gift exchange!, I also apologize for the title, I can't resist a good play on words, I totally had to remind myself what a synapse was, M/M, Shoutout to Wikipedia, These boys both need a hug, Tired Art Student! Jean, Vet! Marco, alternate title: two boys and a birb, or a good Iron and Wine reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingStars/pseuds/RainingStars
Summary: For Jean and Marco, it started with the empty seat in the coffee shop.Then came the injured bird.Soon enough, the two boys learn a little more about themselves, as well as fate's ability to push us in the direction of certain people.





	Flightless Bird, Caffeinated Mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ikisbean0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikisbean0/gifts).



Fate comes when you least expect it.

 

It comes when you’re sitting in your dorm trying to tune out your roommate while he FaceTime’s his girlfriend because _I know I_ said _it was okay, Connie, but you guys don’t have to shout loud enough for the entire campus to hear you._

Fate comes just as you’re giving up on getting through your assignments because you’d rather be sketching for the new idea that came across your mind after seeing that boy again at work.

 

It comes in many, many forms. A shooting star, an airborne note cascading through a park…

 

A bird that slams into your window, causing all parties present, both in person and in phone, to be startled.

 

“Uh, Sash, I’ll call you back okay?” Connie hangs up the phone and looks at me.

 

“Let’s go outside,” I answer his questioning stare.

 

Fate can wait for a minute, though. Let’s backtrack to how we got here. 

* * *

 

From my personal observation, there’s something about my apron that immediately gives people the impression that they have some sort of power over me. Step in front of the counter, and I’m just a normal college kid engaging in the mutual suffering of my fellow classmates. Step behind the counter, and suddenly I’m a coffee gremlin who must only do the bidding of whatever middle-aged soccer mom in colored leggings requests as they poise themselves in front of the register, ready to ask to speak to a manager at the first chance they get.

 

Like the woman approaching the counter right now, a drink in hand and scowl spread across her face. She ordered only five minutes ago, making this a new record in customer dissatisfaction.

 

“Ummm, excuse me? My drink is completely wrong?”

 

I stifle a dramatic sigh as I let the high-pitched voice pierce my eardrums. “I’m sorry, ma’am, what was wrong with it?”

 

“It’s, like, mixed together?” She shakes the cup in front of me for good measure, ice jangling around and condensation dripping off the bottom. A bit splashes on my arm, she’s shaking it that close. God.

 

“From what I remember, ma’am, you ordered a latte.”

“Yeah, I did, and this isn’t it? Lattes are supposed to have espresso at the top and milk at the bottom?”

 

I genuinely can’t tell if she’s asking or telling me all this, but I still venture a correction. “Actually, that’s a macchiato, ma’am.”

 

“Well, that’s what I wanted. This is wrong.”

 

 _Well goddamn, Helen, I’m not a mind-reader_. “Very sorry, ma’am, I’ll get you a new one right away.”

 

“Good. Also, my name’s spelled wrong? It’s not Ashley, it’s A-S-H-L-E-I-G-H.”

 

And with that, she steps away from the counter, leaving me to prepare a new cup which I instantly slap “ _ASHLEE_ ” on in big, black block letters before adding it to the lineup. I hear a small snicker from the corner of the drink bar and glance in that direction. Sasha is covering her mouth with one hand while she steams milk with the other.

 

“Yes, Sasha, please laugh at my pain.”

 

“Trust me, I will. But who spells Ashleigh like… _that_.”

 

“The “sleigh” at the end represents the fact that I want to slay myself whenever I place this god-forsaken apron around my head.” I groan, taking a second to lean against the bar behind me. We’re technically not supposed to do this, but Berthold is the manager today and as long as the line isn’t out the door, he’s content to let us do whatever. Besides, lunch rush has finally died down and my feet are cramping something awful.

 

“How long are you here for?” Sasha asks as she vigorously shakes an iced tea. I’m scared her arm is going to break off at the speed she’s going.

 

“Only for another half an hour, then I have to do a million and one assignments including, but not limited to: painting the Mona Lisa, re-structuring the Sistine Chapel, and trying to understand how the hell Pavlov got that dog to salivate.”

 

“One of those things is not like the other.”

 

“The struggle of an art major attending a ‘regular’ university: I’m supposed to pretend to want to take normal kid classes and not just focus on doing my fun little arts and crafts assignments for my un little major.” I mime bashing my head with an empty pitcher to really drive home how little all of this appeals to me.

 

Sasha gives me a mocking pouty face as she moves onto the next cup, which just so happens to be Ashley/Ashleigh’s latte-but-really-she-meant-macchiato. She quickly shoots me a glance that says, _Do I cough into it?_ Which I muster all the strength not to nod in encouragement to. I’d like to not have to deal with her a second time if avoidable. She shrugs in a _suit yourself_ way as she goes to work on it. “Oh, by the way, I’m coming over to study tonight if that’s cool.”

“How long am I getting kicked out for?”

 

“Nah, dude, we’re actually genuinely studying. Besides, Connie told me how late you’ve been getting home the past week. I wouldn’t want to make you feel like you can’t go to your own room after all the work you’ve been doing for finals.”

 

That’s the beauty of having Connie and Sasha for best friends: sure, they’re dating each other, but they never make me feel like a third wheel. They love and support me just as much as each other, which is a pretty sweet deal.  

 

I’m snapped back into the customer-service reality as I hear the bell above the door chime. In walks a flustered looking boy with freckled cheeks flushed red and a sky-high pile of books balanced on his arms. He pauses for a minute, eyeing the sitting area. His eyes land on a table, and just as he’s about to make a beeline, a woman essentially materializes out of thin air and snatches it. With a sigh, the kid heads over to the mini-bar we have right by the drink prep area. I watch him unwrap what seems like thousands of layers before he finally is left in a faded striped shirt. It’s a pretty nice shirt. My wardrobe Is 90% band shirts and 10% black polos for work. I need to invest in more…

 

“Um, hi, I’m ready to order.”

 

“Oh, sorry!” I stammer, realizing I’ve just spaced out on this total stranger. I step over to the register. “What can I get started for you?” 

 

“Just a black coffee, please.”

 

“Size?”

 

“Big.”

 

What a mood. I grab our largest cup and fill it up with a bold blend. I can tell this kid needs something strong. He pays, thanks me, and settles down with the biggest damn book about house-pets I’ve ever seen. The cover shows a cat and dog touching noses, and even I have to admit it’s pretty damn cute. A few more customers come in and I find myself occupied for the tail-end of my shift. As soon as it’s time for me to clock out, I dash to the back room, throw off the god-forsaken apron, and throw on a hoodie over the collard black work shirt. The khakis will have to do for now, seeing as I forgot my jeans at my dorm. I’ll just have to refrain from doing any oil paint sketching until I get back. As I head out to the sitting area, I realize the place is still pretty jammed. Every table is occupied by at least two or three people, except for one in the way back corner with a single guy surrounded by six other chairs. He has one hand fisted in his hair while the other furiously clicks at a wireless mouse. His stuff is spread among the many chairs around him, and  I figure he can move a jacket or something to free up a place, so I head over to the table.

 

“Hey man, mind if I sit with you? Kind of crowded in here today.”

 

The kid looks up with a pair of large green eyes. He moves the hand from his hair in order to scratch his chin, leaving the previously death-gripped strands sticking straight up. “Uh, I’m kind of waiting on someone? Like, they’ll be here in…an hour.” He stares at me for another second before asking, “Aren’t you the guy who works here?”

 

“Yes?” I answer, wondering if this will make him change his mind.

 

“Do you have, like, no life outside of here?”

 

Damn, low blow. “Uh, I do, just…got lots of work. Hence wanting to sit, even just for a minute before your friend gets here?”

 

“He just texted me saying he’s gonna be here sooner.”

 

I glance down: his phone is turned screen-side down on the table.

 

Ugh, whatever.

 

I turn my back and begin to survey the space again, slowly walking in an effort to potentially catch someone as they’re just gathering their stuff to leave. A few people glance up at me, but all avoid full-on acknowledgment of my presence. After all the drink orders I’ve taken today, and this is the thanks I get…

 

I heave a loud sigh and turn around. My eyes land on the mini-bar, and I see there’s a spot next to freckle-face from before. I hate how crowded it is up there, and the high-seats are less than optimal for comfort, but it’ll do for now. I head over, grab my psych textbook out of my bag, and settle down. I get about three words in before immediately checking out. God, memorizing theories and the names of a bunch of dead dudes is not my forte. My in-class attention is typically devoted to scribbling in the margins of the pages, and while it will make for a pretty interesting textbook for whoever gets it after I sell it back, it’s not doing much for my retention of information. I look up and realize Sasha’s not at the coffee station. Probably grabbing something from the back. My eyes wander as I try to find another distraction, and they land on Freckle-Face’s area. Aside from his giant animal textbook, he’s got his phone out and is bopping his head along to whatever he’s listening to on his headphones. I wonder if what he’s reading is any more interesting than what synapses of the brain do. I glance over and see an anatomical page spread of a golden retriever’s skeleton. Woah. Gross. But awesome.

 

“Oh, hey,” Freckle-Face catches me mid snoop and removes a headphone from his ear. “You work here!”

 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I reply, not sure if I should apologize for eye-invading his space. “How’s the coffee?”

 

“Need another one, if I’m being honest. Midterms are gonna be the death of me.”

 

“You can say that again,” I say as Sasha comes back to the front, a box of new cups in tote.

 

“Jean, do you _ever_ leave here?” She mocks, placing the box on the counter.

 

“Only to sleep, and I rarely do that. Can I get a latte?”

 

“Sure thing, dude.” She gets to work setting up the espresso machine. The smell of new coffee brewing hits my nose and gives me a seriously awesome buzz. Whoever realized they could make a profit selling essentially dirty bean water deserves a goddamn Nobel Prize. Love the stuff.

 

As I’m waiting for my drink, I look back at the animal book. “What class is that for?”

 

“Oh,” Freckle-Face checks the front cover as if he’s only just seeing this book for the first time. “Uh, just my animal anatomy class. We’re doing a section on common house pets.”

 

“Oh, dope.” Sasha comes over with my drink and I nod a _thanks_. She checks in with the others at the bar to see if they need a refill, which Freckle-Face takes her up on. I notice he immediately takes a sip as soon as he receives his fresh drink. Damn, nice. Not many people I know take their coffee black. Even _I_ can’t choke the stuff down. While I love caffeine, I need at least a solid amount of milk to tone it down. I take a closer look at the dude’s face and notice small bag-lines underneath his eyes. He seems like the studious type, and he probably isn’t a stranger to an academic-fueled all-nighter.

 

“That sounds like a pretty cool class. For your major?”

 

“Mhm,” Freckle-Face nods through a sip. “I’m an animal science major. Hoping to be a vet one day! You?”

 

“Studio Art major currently dying over gen ed classes.” I lift up my own textbook to show him the cover.

 

Suddenly, his eyes light up. “Oh, hey! What section of Psych are you taking?

 

“Um, just General Psych One? Monday and Wednesday?”

 

“Three to Four?”

 

“Yeah!” I laugh a little. “Shit, dude, I’ve never seen you in the class before!” As soon as I say this, I realize how dumb it sounds. It’s a lecture hall of about 200 people, of course I’ve never seen him in the class. Hell, I can barely find Connie in the English class we have that only has thirty people in it. That’s also just because he sits in the waaaaay back and I always walk in through the door at the last second, which gives me no time to shoot back and sit with him. Stupid Fine Arts building being at the opposite end of the campus from everything else.

 

Freckle-Face smiles, and it’s kind of incredible. His teeth are pretty damn white considering how much coffee I’m sure he’s drank in his life. “How prepared are you for the test?”

 

“Depends: do you know what the fuck a synapse is?”

 

This really gets him, and he laughs. Well, I wasn’t trying to be funny, so this means I’m more royally screwed than I thought. “We still have, like, four weeks…right?”

 

“Three. It’s been on the syllabus all semester.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I knew that. Just testing you. You passed.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

He stares at me with these deep brown eyes and I have to take a second. They’re kind of mesmerizing. Seriously. “Um, but, you know…. _do_ you know what the fuck a synapse is?”

 

We begin to go over content, me mostly asking questions, and him mostly providing answers. I have no idea how much time has passed, but within that span, he orders _another_ coffee and I find myself blown away by the fact he isn’t vibrating due to the severe caffeine intake.

 

The door to the shop opens and I see another co-worker, Armin, walk in. He nods at me which I return. Sasha runs to the back room and I hear a few crashes before she returns in her regular street clothes. “Yo, Jean! Walk me home? Well, technically your home, but you know what I mean.”

 

I check the time on my phone and realize how late it’s gotten. Although this study session is seriously helping, I _should_ probably take a break and work on my other art projects. “Hey, dude, thanks for this. Seriously.”

 

He picks up his phone and opens it. “Well, now that I know a face in the crowd, we could exchange numbers and I could help you out if you’re in a pinch!”

 

“Oh, shit, that would be great!” I take the phone and plug in my number. As soon as he gets it back, he types something and hits send. “There, sent you a text so you’ll have my number too.”

 

“Cool. See you around, man!” We wave, and I gather my stuff before throwing my bag on my back and heading out the door with Sasha.

 

As we walk, letting the cool night air cleanse the scent of coffee grounds from my nose, I look at the stars and can’t help but think of the kid from the shop’s freckles. How someone has so damn many is a brilliant mystery.

 

“Hey, who was that kid you were with?” Sasha asks, breaking me out of my trance.

 

“Oh, uh, a friend from my psych class.”

 

“Cool! What’s his name?”

 

I quickly pull out my phone and see his message on my screen. “Marco,” I say, returning it to my pocket so the glow of the screen won’t illuminate the stupid little smile that comes across my face as I say the name. I don’t know, something about the possibility of having found a new friend is kind of nice.

* * *

 

 The universe has a funny way of bringing people into your life. As soon as Marco and I begin texting, first about more psych stuff, and then about general life stuff, he begins showing up everywhere. I finally notice him in lecture as I walk in the day after the coffee shop. He sits in the middle section towards the end seat on the left. I head over, grab the seat next to him, and find that he is one of the most focused students I’ve ever seen. He scribbles notes down with such vigor that I even feel myself inclined to use my pencil for the teacher’s words versus my own distracting doodles.

 

And, of course, he’s in the coffee shop almost every-other-day. He always orders the same thing: Black coffee. Big. Never “large”. Big.

 

As the week goes by, I settle into a routine of sitting next to him at the mini-bar after my shift and studying for psych. It’s a bitch-and-a-half, and I swear the info goes in one ear and out the other, but he’s patient. I also make a habit of straight-up _not_ looking at Sasha while we study. She tries to get my attention though, and in the moments I give in she makes some sort of ridiculous expression or nods to Marco and wiggles her eyebrows. Jesus. I’m allowed to have friends other than her and Connie. Just because this new friend happens to be particularly handsome doesn’t mean anything.

 

I do like hanging with Marco, though. As we roll into the next week, we begin to get a little more personal in our discussions. I tell him about my major and how I have absolutely no idea what I want to do in the future, which is scary as hell. But I can’t imagine not doing art. I tell him it feels as though I’m able to transport myself into another world – hell, another _dimension_ – every time I pick up a pencil or oil paint or anything of the like. I tell him I rarely feel in control, but painting and drawing and sketching and creating allows me to choose what I want to happen whenever I want it to happen. He doesn’t laugh at how excited I get when talking about my latest project for my calligraphy class. He doesn’t even question the fact that I’m taking a calligraphy class. He just listens and nods and asks genuine questions, which is kind of fucking incredible. While Connie and Sasha care, there’s something about Marco that makes me want to open up.

 

I don’t _just_ talk about me, though. Marco wants to be a vet, and that’s just so fucking cool. He says he loves how innocent animals are, and believes no animal is born bad. He spent almost fifteen minutes ranting about how pit bulls must be protected at all costs. He also has the most insane pet stories.

 

“So,” I say as we take a break from figuring out what the fuck Freud was going on about with his “complexes”, “Tell me the craziest animal story you got.”

 

“You’ve gotta be more specific, Jean,” he laughs. “Like, stuff I’ve learned in classes, or stuff I’ve experienced in internships?”

 

“Internships, duh.”

 

He contemplates for a minute, pursing his lips in a kind of seriously adorable way. I see a light go on in his eyes and he sits up, positioning himself for th tale. “So, we have lots of dogs at the vet office I help at, right?”

 

“I sure would assume so,” I reply smartly. I earn a soft punch in the arm.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, we have a little dog daycare center, and we have a cabinet in the area that has treats. It’s got a doorknob to open it, so we thought it was all secure, right? Welp, guess again. There’s this huge Newfoundland named Fido - I swear to god that’s her name, and I both love and hate it. So, Fido is super chill, and super sweet, and super sneaky. Like, if she was a person, she would totally be some sort of mob boss.”

 

“She probably was a mob boss, but for dogs. A…dob…boss.”

 

We both cringe at how unbelievably lame that was. Wow. I hope Marco doesn’t notice me blush with embarrassment. If he does, he ignores it and continues. “One day, I’m trying to clean out the snack closet, and I notice something: the bag of dog treats is almost empty, even though I could have sworn we bought a new one just the other day. I’m not one-hundred percent sure, though, so I ignore it. Next day, there’s only one treat left. Now I’m wondering what kind of person wants to steal dog treats, and unfortunately at the time our security camera was broken, so we had to wait about a week. During that week, the treat theft slowed, so I was just completely bamboozled. Finally, the thing gets fixed, and nothing seems out of the ordinary. _However,_ the theft starts up again, and we can finally watch the footage. And who was stealing it? Fido!”

 

“What a bitch! Literally!”

 

“Literally! Oh my goodness it was crazy to watch, too. She managed to bat at the knob enough to just, like, fling it open, then she and everyone else would go all open-season on the treats before she would go and nudge the door shut again. Needless to say, we child-proofed that door afterward.”

 

I’m laughing pretty hard. Not just because the story is amusing, but because Marco has a way of making every aspect of the story sound unbelievably exciting. He moves his hands a lot, and emphasizes words here and there in a way that is _extremely prominent_. It’s great, really. He’s just an overall nice guy to be around.

 

After another hour of “studying” (a.k.a me spacing out and Marco trying to get me to focus), I get a text from Connie telling me he and Sasha are ordering pizza, and that I should get my ass over to our dorm before they get it and eat the entire thing. Connie has a decent appetite, but Sasha…holy shit that girl can eat. It’s seriously impressive. Like, I only hope to have that type of endurance one day.

 

“Alright, man, I think I’m heading out.”

 

“Cool! I’m just gonna hang here for a bit longer, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

“Either in class or in here!” I reply, and we give a small wave to each other before I head out.

 

It’s not a long walk back to my dorm, but with the temperature dropping it’s a little more tedious to make the trek. I pull my leather jacket closer to my body as I wait for the light to the crosswalk to signal pedestrians. I wish I had a car on campus, but A) it’s expensive to get a parking pass, and B) it’s expensive to get a car. I’m here on every art scholarship I could muster and even a single academic scholarship. All of it is to help my mom out. Still, it doesn’t exempt the fact that school’s fucking expensive, and if I slack off in my gen ed classes, it might put all of that in jeopardy. It’s not that I’m _not_ trying in psych, it’s just the literal opposite of what my brain is wired to do. Ugh. Thank god for Marco, seriously. At least he’s giving me a fighting chance.  

 

As I’m crossing, I feel my pocket vibrate, and I grab my phone to check who it is before answering. Well, speak of the devil. “Hey, mom!”

 

“Hey, Jean,” She says, and I instantly hear how tired she is.

 

“You doing okay?”

 

“Yeah!” The fake chipper-ness hurts my ears. “Yeah, just a long week at the office, you know? TGIF and all that.”

“Ha, sure, sure. What’s up?”

 

“I can’t call my son just to say ‘hi’?”

 

“No, you totally can, but you sound…I dunno…”

 

There’s a pause. I think she’s contemplating whether to keep her act up or actually be real with me. Finally, she sighs, and her voice returns to its regular pitch. “Well, hon, I just got a call from your father.”

 

 _Oh, god, that’s never a good sign_.

 

“And, um, he said he wants to discuss his portion of the tuition payment.”

 

“What does he need to discuss? He pays, you pay, I work my ass off at the coffee shop and pay what I can, and I get to go to school.”

 

“Yes, I’m aware, sweetie,” she says. “However, he and his new wife are moving and—“

 

“Fuck Carol.”

 

“Jean—“

 

“No, _fuck. Carol._ She thinks she’s so important and knowledgeable because she’s a fucking lawyer but she’s just a heartless bitch who—“

 

“ _Jean_. Enough with the swearing, please.” I grimace. But let her continue. “He hasn’t said anything yet, but he’s moving soon and is worried about that expense.”

 

“Because his son in college is no big deal.”

 

“He doesn’t _not_ care, Jean, he’s just…always had trouble finding his priorities.” I hate hearing her make excuses for him. He’s a grown ass man who has too much money for his own good. “Worrying” about the expense of moving is complete bullshit. Still, I bite my tongue. My mom’s worked so hard ever since dad and her split up, and she doesn’t need to hear me bitch about him any more than she already has.

 

“I get it, mom. You know what, break’s in about a month anyway, and I’ll have more time on my hands. Maybe I’ll look for a second job.”

 

“Only if that’s okay with you, sweetie. Don’t feel pressured. That’s not why I called.”

 

“I know, mom, I know. Thanks for letting me know.”

 

“No problem.”

 

After this, the conversation continues for a bit longer. She asks how classes are, what projects I’m working on, all that mom stuff. I tell her about my piece that makes fun of pieces that try to make “edgy commentary” on things like social media, and make it sound like psych is the least of my concern. I get back to my dorm just as I’m hanging up. When I walk in the room, I’m happy to see Connie and Sasha, and even happier to see a giant pizza in the middle of the floor. However, after we’ve eaten and after Sasha has gone home, I find myself lying in bed with a sea of worries replacing my brain. 

* * *

I feel as though I’ve been staring at this page for years. Really, it’s been less than seven minutes, but I still feel like I’m dying.

 

Connie and Sasha are laughing about something I’ve tuned out, and of course, my anxiety chooses now to rear its ugly head. I’ve known these guys for years, they wouldn’t mind if I asked them to tone down their voices a little. But of course, I don’t want to be a bother, and I _said_ that I didn’t mind so I don’t want to seem uptight all of a sudden.

 

I can always just see if the lounge is open, but there’s always the danger of a group of rowdy freshmen coming in and making the space uninhabitable.

 

Ugh.

 

I grab my laptop and open it up, immediately going to the internet and typing in “jobs”. I’ve been searching ever since I got off the phone with my mom, but I have no idea what I want to do. Honestly, Sasha was the one who helped me get the gig at the coffee shop, and I don’t know what else is up my alley. Scheduling between two jobs is another thing that I’m just not ready to deal with.

 

My phone buzzes, and I instantly check, happy for the distraction.

 

**Marco:**

How’s the studying, champ?

 

**Me:**

I crave death. Please make this hell stop.

 

**Marco:**

We have a whole day to study. The test is tomorrow. You can do this!! :)

 

I groan at him and his stupid smiley face. God, it’s only been a few weeks but Marco’s seriously come through in terms of helping my try and focus. I wonder where he lives on campus, if he even lives on campus. I’ve actually never asked him before. Huh. I should text him and see.

 

Before I can even begin typing, the world fucking ends. The loudest crash I’ve ever heard in my goddamn life resounds through the tiny dorm room, causing me to drop my phone and causing Connie and Sasha to stop mid-conversation. We take a second to check in with our surroundings. There is a small nick in the glass on the windowpane, yet no sign of what could have hit it. I think the attack or accident or whatever the fuck was just exclusive to our room, seeing as we hear no screaming in the halls.

 

“Uh, Sash, I’ll call you back okay?” Connie hangs up the phone and looks at me.

 

“Let’s go outside,” I answer his questioning stare.

 

We run out without shoes or jackets or anything, but we’re too shaken to even care.

 

“Was it just a rock?” Connie questions as we get outside and see absolutely no suspicious people or signs of foul play. “Like someone was just messing around or trying to get someone else’s attention but realized we were the wrong room?”

 

“I don’t think a rock could have dented the fucking window like that unless it was pretty big and, like, had an athlete throwing it.”

 

We decide to divide and conquer, with Connie taking one side of the courtyard outside our dorms, and me taking the other. We both slowly scavenge in silence, unsure of who or what we’re looking for.

 

Suddenly, I hear a small rustle. And then a small noise…

 

Was that a chirp?

 

I turn my eyes to the ground, and there, a few feet ahead of me, is a small pile of feathers. As I walk closer and get a better view, I see it’s a whole fucking bird. The poor thing is twitching one wing while helplessly tweeting. The legs and the rest of its body are unmoving. Jesus.

 

“Connie! I found something, come check it out!” He begins to run over before I tell him, “Calmly, dude. Calmly.”

 

When he reaches my side and looks to where I’m pointing, his eyes go wide. “Oh, wow, is that what dented the window?”

 

“I think so?” I say, not sure. “I don’t know, though. Like, why would a bird just fucking catapult into a window like that?” I stare at the creature, not sure what to do. Jesus if Marco was here he would –

 

“Jean?”

 

Holy fuck. I whip around and sure as the light of fucking day, Marco is standing right behind me.

 

“Marco! Help!” Is all I can think to say. He gives me a questioning stare and I frantically point down to the bird. A look of understanding crosses his face.

 

“Okay, oh, wow. Um…stay here, I’m gonna go grab a towel from the building.”

 

“Wait, I live there, do you want me to swipe my ID so you can get in?”

 

Marco raises an eyebrow, puzzled. “I mean, you could, but I also live here.”

 

“Oh. Cool.” Well, that answers the other question from before.

 

As Marco runs in, Connie and I settle into the grass around the bird.

 

“Who was that guy?” Connie asks, eyebrows raised in curiosity and…is that a smirk on his face?

 

“I haven’t told you? That’s Marco, the kid I met in the coffee shop a few weeks ago.”

 

“Ooooooh,” a look of sudden recognition crosses Connie’s face. “ _That’s_ Marco?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Oh. See, Sasha mentioned you’d been seeing a guy but I didn’t expect—”

 

“Uh, woahwoahwoah,” I hold my hand out in a _stop_ motion. “We’re not seeing each other. I just met the guy. He helps me out in our psych class and he’s cool to hang out with but that’s it.” I hope to god the blush on my cheeks will be chalked up to the brisk air and not the sudden wave of embarrassment that’s washed over my entire body.

 

Connie shrugs. “Alright, believe you. I’d talk to Sasha, though, because she seems to see things in a different light.”

 

Oh, I’ll definitely be having a talk with her. Mark my words. There is a pause between us as Marco comes out carrying a towel. “Okay, so, it looks like it’s too injured to move, but just in case it makes a break for it I need you two to stand on either side and be at the ready.” Connie and I comply and take our stances besides the bird. Carefully, Marco reaches down with the towel. The bird’s chirping grows a little louder and a little more frantic as the material closes around it, but it doesn’t try to escape. We all collectively breathe a sigh of relief as Marco begins to gently wrap the little creature in the towel, ensuring it is swaddled while its neck and head are outside and exposed to the air.

 

Connie and I give some polite claps, and Marco laughs a little. “I have to say, I always expected my first time dealing with any avian recovery to be in a class or lab, but desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.

 

Connie looks at Marco, then me. “What?”

 

“He’s an animal science major,” I explain. This seems to clear things up for Connie. I focus on the bird in the towel. Its eyes are open and are blinking rapidly. “What do we do now?”

 

“The labs are all closed today because it’s a Sunday, and if I email my professors they most likely won’t get back to me until tomorrow, so…” Marco looks down at the bird for a moment, contemplating the answer. “So, I think I’ll just have to keep it in my room.”

 

“Does your roommate care?” Connie asks.

 

“Oh! I’m actually in a single. My roommate just never showed up and they never gave me a replacement, so this little guy is gonna get his own bed and everything.”

 

“Sweet! Alright, Connie and I can help with whatever you need to setup and—”

 

“Actually…” Connie shoots me a look, a twinkle of something mischievous lighting up his eyes. “I really need to get back to the room and call Sasha. I hung up pretty suddenly. So I don’t want her to worry.”

 

 _That little shit_.

 

“But, hey, I’ll try to catch you guys later!” And without another word, he’s gone. I look at Marco, he looks at me, and we share a small smile.

 

“Well, let’s take the patient upstairs.”

* * *

As Marco opens the door to his room, I’m not sure what to expect. Dozens of animal posters? Dozens of animal books? Shit, he’s in a single and our RA maybe checks in with us once every two months…dozens of _animals_?

 

Or, nothing. We walk in, and I’m kind of surprised to find the space relatively bare. No posters on the wall or Christmas lights or anything else you’d think would be in a college student’s dorm. His desk organization is pristine. Just looking at it makes me ashamed of the state of my desk. I think there are about 70 layers of acrylic paint on it at this point, meanwhile, Marco’s is still the sandy wood color. He has a Bluetooth speaker on the windowsill and a bunk-bed in the corner. The bottom bunk is made up with a blue sheet while the other is completely bare. The only thing that seems to have any chaotic aspect is his laptop. I don’t know how I’ve never seen it before. Then again, he’s always taken paper notes in class, and he always uses his textbook in the coffee shop. If he needs to look anything up, he often just uses his phone. There are stickers of cats and dogs and various band logos that I sure as shit have never heard of before slapped over the case in a haphazard way that’s strangely artistic.

 

“Welcome to my abode,” Marco says, motioning to the room with his free hand as he cradles the bird with the other.

 

“Nice place,” I nod, heading over to the desk to inspect it further. Jesus, he has _organizers_? “I like your laptop.”

 

“Oh, thanks!” He smiles, setting the towel down onto the bed. “I really like this one artist on this website I use for stickers and stuff. Um, I think this…” He comes over and points to a specific sticker on the cover. “This is my favorite.” It’s a cat and a dog curled into each other to form an animal ying-yang. Super precious, of course it would be his favorite.

 

“I love it,” I smile, then motion to the rest of the room. “Not a fan of decorating?”

 

“Eh, I don’t know. Nothing I really feel like displaying, I guess.”

 

“Hm,” I nod. We share a moment of silence before glancing back to the bed. Marco comes over and unwraps the towel. The bird is still on its side, though the chirping has gone down significantly. “What’s our status on the patient?”

 

“Well, the main thing is to make sure it’s comfortable.”

 

“Can we give it a name? Just so we’re not calling the thing “it”. Or “thing”, for that matter.”

 

Marco laughs. “What did you have in mind?”

 

Shit, I actually didn’t think that comment through. I knit my eyebrows together for a minute before blurting the first thing that comes to my mind: “Birb.”

 

“You want to name the bird…Birb?” I give my cheesiest smile, and he just rolls his eyes. “Alright, then. Henceforth, the patient will be known as Birb.”

 

Birb gives a light tweet. “See, Birb likes it.”

 

“I’m Birb does,” Marco says, giving me a small punch on the shoulder. I try to pretend like it has no effect on me. Why the hell did I just get jittery?

 

We spend the next few minutes deciding what to do next. Marco scans through some of his textbooks, seeing if there are any sections that deal with birds. Eventually, we gather enough information between the two of us to get the poor thing set up for the night.

 

“Okay, first thing’s first, I’ve gotta run to the bathroom to get some paper towels. Sit with Birb and maybe see if you can get it to sit up?”

 

“Um, I don’t really have experience with –”

 

“You’ll be _fine_ , Jean, I promise.”

 

He disappears before I can protest anymore. I look at the bed and see Birb still on its side. It takes a minute, but eventually, I migrate over to the bed. As I sit down, another shiver comes over my body. As I breathe in, I catch a whiff of what smells like Marco’s cologne. Or is that just how he smells? I see no cologne anywhere, so maybe he’s just naturally dreamy and naturally smells like sandalwood and something else I have no idea how to identify. It’s just _him._ And now I’m sitting in his room on his bed next to an injured bird and it’s just all so _weird_.

 

Fate has a weird way of lining shit up. If I hadn’t sat next to Marco that day in the coffee shop, I don’t think I’d be here right now. I wouldn’t have ever noticed him in class and would probably be way more lost at psych than ever before.  

 

But staring at this pristine room, seeing how calm and collected he is…it’s a little much. Here I am trying to finish my art projects while I try my best to not fuck up this class while _also_ juggling the potential of taking on a second job and –

 

Shit. My face is getting hot and my eyes are stinging. This is a stupid thing to get emotional over. I have to help Birb out.

 

I turn to the small creature and ever so tenderly reach out to touch it. Birb tweets, and my body tenses. Fuck, okay. I can do this. I move a little closer, and gently try to slide my fingers underneath the side of Birb that’s on the bed. More tweeting, but it doesn’t sound pained. At least, I hope it doesn’t. I slowly lift up until Birb is sitting comfortably in my hands. I gently set it down on the towel. It doesn’t fall over, so I guess that’s a good sign.

 

Marco comes back in the room as I’m staring at Birb, eyes stinging again. “Hey! You did it!”

 

“Yeah!” I say, clearing my throat so my voice doesn’t sound too rough. Marco comes and sits on the other side of the towel in front of me. His eyes are soft as he looks at the animal in front of him. It’s beautiful. Fuck.

 

“How did this even happen?” I ask, distracting myself as Marco reaches into a backpack and pulls out a water bottle. “Like, why did Birb fly into the window?”

 

“Sometimes the window can reflect the trees and surrounding areas, and when birds are flying they can’t tell the difference. They mistake the reflection, and, well….” He trails off and motions to Birb.

 

“Wow. Sick.” I say. “Not in a good way. Like…that sucks that they’re just naturally…kind of dumb.”

 

Marco laughs. I laugh. Birb tweets.

 

I’m silent as I watch Marco dampen the paper towel. He cleans off one of Birbs legs, and I wince as I see spots of red dotting the white surface. But Marco doesn’t show any fear, only compassion. He finishes cleaning off Birb before reaching under his bed and pulling out a first aid kit. He goes to work opening it and pulling out a tongue depressor. He breaks it.

 

“Jean, can you check for a rubber band on my desk? I want to make a splint just to be safe.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” I grab one out off of the rubber band ball he has (oh my god) and hand it to him. “You really look in your element right now. Super calm. It’s sweet.”

 

“Thanks,” Marco grins this stupid lopsided grin that scrunches his nose and his freckles and makes me feel so fucking giddy. Ugh. “It’s nice to think I kind of know what I’m doing, but it’s still super scary.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, I normally have guidance of a professor or a professional. I know we just need to make it through the night with this little guy, but still…my heart’s like, beating.”

 

I’m sure it is. Jesus. Marco spends a few more minutes getting Birb set up, and then picks it up again. He shapes the towel into a messy little nest and then sets Birb on top again. “Alright, let’s give the little guy his space. We’ll figure out food in a bit.”

 

We settle onto the floor and both heave a small sigh of relief. Our eyes meet, and then we begin to laugh.

 

“Welp, looks like we’re bird dads for the night.”

 

“Birb dads, dude. Come on.” I give him a punch and he groans lightheartedly.

 

“Have you eaten today?” Marco asks, and I quickly check my phone clock. Holy shit. How is it already 4 p.m.?

 

“Uh, no…no. I’m kind of stressed about the test and other shit right now. I forget to eat when that happens.”

 

“Well, that doesn’t mean you don’t _need_ to eat. Let’s order some food, yeah?”

* * *

 Half an hour later, I’m ripping into a carton of lo mein so fast I feel like I’m a wild animal.

 

“Marco, you need to let me pay you back.”

 

“I _said_ don’t worry, Jean! Just enjoy.”

 

And you fucking bet I do. I slurp down a few bites so fast I think I stop breathing for a second. I look up and see Marco digging into his General Tso’s with a similar ferocity. It’s nice to see him let loose for a second.

 

“Is it wrong for me to say that this has been kind of fun? Not Birb being hurt, but…I don’t know, getting to spend time with you while you do your thing.”

 

“It is nice. Something to do to distract us from our impending psych doom, right?”

 

“Ha! More like _my_ impending psych doom. You’re totally set.”

 

“Mmmm, not too sure about that,” Marco smirks. “I do this really fun thing where I wait until the last minute to cram study.”

 

“Seriously?” I almost choke on my food. Marco isn’t prepared? “Well if you’re fucked, I’m _definitely_ fucked.”

 

“I think we’ll be fine! Helping you study has helped me too. So, you know, thanks for pretending to be helpless.”

 

“Yeah, I wish I was pretending.”

 

“You’re smarter than you think, Jean,” He smiles at me and my chest cramps.

 

“Thanks, I really appreciate that.”

 

Comfortable silence ensues. I can’t even sit in silence with Connie for more than five minutes before he or I feel the need to share a dumb meme or video with each other. Same with Sasha, although she never stops talking, bless her. But sitting here, just eating and being with each other. It’s nice. I look around. So much potential in this moment…

 

“Hey, be right back. I wanna grab my sketching stuff.”

 

Marco nods eagerly and I put my food down. This whole entire time the fucker has been living two floors above me! I ascend the staircase and run into the hallway, finding my room at lightning speed. I test the knob and find it’s open. As I push in the door, I dart in, not even noticing that Sasha’s now here, sitting with Connie on his bed.

 

“Hey man! You’ve been with Marco for a while.”

 

“Shut up,” I say with a dumb smile as I grab my sketchbook and charcoals.

 

“You guys having fun?” Sasha smirks, and I groan

 

“As much fun as we can while caring for a bird.”

 

“Just make safe decisions, okay?” The two say in a unison that’s kind of creepy.

 

I bolt out of the room, cheeks flushed. As I approach the door, I hear music. Huh, Marco must have started something up on his Bluetooth. I open the door and…

 

Marco quickly looks up, eyes wide. It takes a second for the song to become identifiable, but when it is I almost lose my shit.

 

“Dude, is this Snoop Dogg???”

 

“Uh, no…” Marco quickly hits another song on his phone screen, something from the Top 40 that is super easily forgettable.

 

“Hey, you didn’t have to change it! I just never pegged you as an R&B guy.”

 

“It’s just…I like the tune.”

 

Of course he does, bless his heart. “Hey, put the playlist back on, I want to see into the world of Marco’s music.” He hesitates for a minute before tapping at his screen a few times. Kanye fills the room. I can’t fucking believe it.

 

I don’t embarrass him anymore on the music front. Instead, I settle back down on the floor and open my sketchbook to a blank page. I pull a charcoal out of its case and go to town. I sketch the desk, the bed. I spend time detailing Birb’s small figure on the windowsill. I spend time drawing Marco, not on the floor, but on the bed. I begin to sketch a figure next to him. He’s kind of tall and kind of lanky and kind of has the same haircut as me and…

 

Shit.

 

I stop sketching. Suddenly, everything is a little overwhelming. I shouldn’t be sitting here making dumb sketches of me and Marco. I’ve only known him for a few weeks, that’s so weird. I shouldn’t even be here. Marco was the one who took care of Birb, not me. I just watched, I need to study otherwise I’m going to fail this test and fail the class and lose my scholarship and I’ll have to take on a third job because my fucking dad won’t fucking help and why the _hell_ am I having a breakdown over this? I’m not five anymore. _Jesus, Jean, get your shit together—_

“Jean?”

 

My name sounds gentle coming from his lips. I look up with eyes that are probably bloodshot from the emotions I’m trying to suppress. “Yeah, Marco?”

 

And then he says the three worst possible words he could say in this moment: “Are you okay?”

 

“Um, yeah…”

 

“Jean,” he says again. Softer. Gentler. He turns off the music, devoting his full attention to me. “What’s up?”

 

And suddenly I’m spilling. I tell him about the phone call from my mom, about my shitty dad and his shitty new wife, about my search for a third job, about every minute stressor I can think of. I don’t mention the overwhelming sensation I feel whenever he’s around. I don’t mention how much I like him. I don’t mention that he makes me feel stable. That I look forward to class and the coffee shop. That when Connie left us alone I was ecstatic.

 

“Sorry,” I blurt once I realize how much I’ve been talking. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry –”

 

And then suddenly I’m shutting up.

 

Suddenly Marco is moving closer.

 

Suddenly all the synapses in my brain – which I now finally know are gaps between nerve cells – are firing left and fucking right because Marco is now wrapping his arms around me and holy shit I smell his cologne and shampoo and they’re creating a myriad of sensational scents and all I want to do is cry but –

 

I take a deep breath.

 

Wow. This is a lot of feelings for just one hug.

 

“Jean, you don’t have to apologize. You’re good, okay?” He pats my back before releasing the hug. I have to resist the urge to pull him back in.

 

“Okay. Sorry. Shit, um. Not sorry, just…I’m not used to dumping on people like that? Like even Connie and Sasha haven’t seen this side of me but…I guess I just feel like you can handle it?”

 

“Yeah?” He says, cocking his head to the side.

 

“Yeah,” I swallow. I flex my hands a few times, which have since gone extremely clammy. My mouth is so fucking dry but there is not a drop of water or soda or anything to drink in sight. We used the last of our water on Birb’s leg. “I know we’ve just met, and I know I sound psychotic, but you…dude, you’re like, the picture of composure. Sure you can get flustered sometimes, like when you walked into the coffee shop that first day and were scrambling to find a seat.”

 

“Holy crap,” Marco laughs, “You remember that?”

 

“I have a weirdly photographic memory. Don’t ask.”

 

“Oh, I’m asking.”

 

God, what a dork. I roll my eyes at him, which earns me a smile. “But, uh, yeah. I guess you’ve just been a cool presence in my life lately, which, as you just heard, has been falling to shit. I wish I could be as content as you. You’re like, the whole package Marco. Calm, cool, attractive.”

 

_Fuck I just said that out loud MAYDAY._

“Um, also collected. Also collected.”

 

Marco’s smile seems to waver a bit. His body language transforms, and his posture scrunches as he brings his legs up and hugs his knees. For a moment, he looks childish, and that’s not _bad_ , just _different_. His cheeks flush again, and I’m brought back to the first meeting. Truthfully, the red makes his freckles pop, and it’s kind of the cutest thing.

 

“Jean, I appreciate that, but…I mean, I’m not always like that, you know?”

 

“Yeah?” I question, a bit stunned.

 

“Yeah. I mean, I put on this front for my professors and even some of my fellow classmates, but…” He pauses, places a finger to his mouth in contemplation. The corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. “Wow, yeah. It’s hard to dump on people when you’re used to bottling all this stuff up.”

 

“What a pair.”

 

“Are we.”

 

We share a look. His eyes meet mine and I feel like I’m staring into the sun.

 

And I’m okay with that.

 

“What do you _want_ to tell me, we’ll start there.”

 

And then Marco is telling me about how he struggled when he first came here. He used to be at another school but transferred here last year. That put him a year behind and put even more of a financial stressor on his parents, but he’s gotten a ton of scholarships to help relieve the burden.

 

“And then when I started here, um…I just felt kind of isolated? All my friends, people I had gone to high school with, were all at the old school. And here I was, and I didn’t know what I was doing, and I was failing a gen ed because math is the worst.”

 

“The worst,” I agree.

 

“And it became this uphill battle for me to even get out of bed in the morning. That was a rough semester, but it’s gotten better. It’s not without lots of effort though. Um, if you look in the desk drawer, you’ll see what I mean.

 

I slowly get up and go over to the desk. When I open the drawer, I’m shocked: a cluster of orange and white bottles are neatly tucked into a plastic bin. Hidden away, so no one can find them amongst the façade of organization and care.

 

“Marco…”

 

“It’s embarrassing, I know,” He stammers, and this is the first time I’ve heard his voice shake like this. “But, they’ve helped, and they let me get through each day. They let me pretend I’m normal when really…well, you just saw.”

 

“Thank you for trusting me.” I can’t emphasize the thanks enough, but he gets it.

 

“I just don’t want you to think I’m this, like, perfect person you need to look up to, okay? I like spending time with you, not because I feel like I can guide you, but because I feel like we both have similar stories. We’re both people who feel a lot, and we both try our best.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

I look at him.

 

He looks at me.

 

We smile.

 

“Was the drawing the thing that got you worked up?” Marco asks, nodding towards the sketchbook which I’ve thrown face-down on the ground. My eyes widen a little, but I try to play it cool.  “Um…kind of. Art is my escape but it’s also a way for me to express, um, desires and –”

 

Marco reaches over to the book, and I automatically grab his hand. “Um, look, I know we just had the talk about opening up and everything but maybe you….”

 

I trail off. He looks disappointed, but of course he’ll pretend to understand. But he won’t _actually_ understand. And I kind of want him to.

 

“Maybe you can look,” I correct myself. “But, please don’t be weirded out? Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

I believe him. I take the sketchbook and flip it.

 

And there is the picture of the room and Birb.

 

And us.

 

Marco and I.

 

Marco’s figure clear, and mine a little blurrier. An attempt at remaining anonymous. I rest my head on his shoulder in the picture, and he rests his on mine. We don’t have expressions, but we seem content in body language.

 

“Oh,” Marco says softly. I nod. He stares at the image more, taking it in, his brown eyes shining with something I can’t identify. I feel too much of his presence here on the floor, so I cross over to the bed and sit, aiming to distance myself a little. It’s a small room, so I don’t gain much ground, but still.

 

“Yeah. I know it’s weird—”

 

“It’s not.”

 

 _Oh._ “It’s not?”

 

He shakes his head again, and my heart is about to beat out of my damn chest.

 

And then it nearly fucking stops because _holy shit_ Marco is getting up and coming over to the bed and sitting down next to me and –

 

I breathe.

 

He breathes.

 

“I’m seriously glad that kid at the coffee shop didn’t move his stuff for me that other day,” I say.

 

“Same,” Marco replies. “Then who would I have bonded with over psych and coffee?”

 

“Which you drink too much of, by the way,” I give him a small push. “I’m going to start cutting you off at two coffees.”

 

“I’ll find a way around it.”

 

“I’ll get Sasha in on it, too.”

 

“You bastard,” Marco gasps. I laugh. Hard. The kid never swears!

 

“Something funny?”

 

“Nah.”

 

I don’t know when we scooted so close to one another, but here we are.

 

“So that picture is what you see us as?” Marco asks, and it kind of fucking sends me to the floor. I never thought of it like that, but then again, I guess my imagination is just my subconscious telling me what I want.

 

“I just don’t want to weird you out.”

 

“I already said it’s not weird.”

 

“Yeah….but what is it, then?”

 

There is a silence, and it’s not comfortable, and not awkward, but tense with…something.

 

Something that draws us even closer.

 

Something that draws his lips to mine and mine to his and ours together.

 

Something that is sending fucking shittons of dopamine –  another psych term – to my brain.

 

 _Fuck. This is incredible_.

 

His jaw is strong as I trace my hand along its edges. His lips are soft as I savor them, and of course he tastes like coffee, I'm sure this loser has the stuff running through his veins at this point. His eyelashes flutter against mine and the tingling is sensational. I pull away for a split second, noticing flecks of hazel in his deep brown eyes and the spatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. We kiss again, briefly. 

 

And then we just laugh.

 

Because who would have seen this coming?

 

And then Birb starts tweeting and we laugh _again_.

 

Because who knew fate would come in the form of a little bird? Or in the form of an empty seat at a coffee shop? Or in the form of a sketch whipped up by the mind of a desperate boy?

 

“I think we should check on Birb and see if we can’t scrounge up some food for the little guy.”

 

“Our bird child.”

 

The rest of the evening is spent making sure the little bird is set up for the evening. Birb seems to be doing okay with his little splint in his little towel nest. He’s just so little, and his resilience is wonderful. He’s ours to take care of.

 

Eventually, Marco and I find ourselves together again, laying down on his bed, talking about all sorts of random animal facts. Marco is, like, a sea of knowledge when it comes to this stuff. I love hearing it. And for a moment, nothing is wrong. I’m going to be able to find a job, and I’m going to be able to help my mom.

 

And Marco is going to keep getting better at his practice, and we’re going to help Birb, and he’ll be able to see that medication isn’t something that defines him.

 

We’ll both be able to learn and grow and help each other.

 

And everything is good.

 

Until suddenly we both stop talking. We both look at each other, realization crossing both of our faces.

 

“Um, our test is tomorrow,” I say.

 

“Have you studied today? I remember you mentioning it –”

 

I look at him in a way that reads _Do you really think I_ actually _studied?_

He nods in understanding. “Game-plan: I contact one of my buddies, he brings Birb to the lab, and we get to the coffee shop as soon as we can in the morning.”

 

“Only if your friend treats our child with care.”

 

“I’ll make sure of it,” Marco swears.

 

Birb makes a content tweeting noise. We both promise the little creature no more harm will come to it. We high five on the game plan, then laugh at how ridiculous this action is.

 

“Hey,” I say.

 

“Hey,” Marco replies.

 

“Do you believe in fate?”

 

“Do I ever.”

 

I settle into Marco’s arms as he tells me the story of the parrot who almost cost him his job. It learned how to imitate his voice, which it then used to say swears it heard.

 

Okay, so maybe not _all_ birds are brought to you by fate.

 

But as Marco and I share a kiss, I thank god for the ones that are.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for such an enjoyable prompt! I hope I was able to meet at least some of the expectations :)
> 
> Happy holidays, and happy gift exchange!


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